Time Warp
by Scratch O'Brien
Summary: Suddenly it all made sense. The shirt, the key, the cane... but it was too late. And now the words echoed through my head: 'Let's do the Time Warp again'. Now I might never get back home. T for swearing and crude humor
1. Mother's Angel Cloud

**Guess what, guys? I don't own _Newsies_! The Man (who goes under the alias of Disney) owns Newsies. Any character not in the 1992 movie is mine, unless specifically stated. Also, this story will include more about _Newsies_ later. Just not now. I also admit that Slip is kinda like Two-Bit from _The Outsiders_ which I do not own, because S.E. Hinton does for she wrote it. (For those of you who haven't read the book, Two-Bit is a wisecracker with _very_ sticky fingers.) I don't own the trademark Apple iPods. "Eye of the Tiger" is a song by the band Survivor. Also, Slip in a few of my other stories was female, but this Slip is male. **

_For Beth._

Chapter One-

I sat at the edge of the docks, dangling my feet in the water.

This was my thought spot: the docks. I loved the docks. Well, every Brooklyn kid loves the docks, but, I loved them differently than most Brooklyn kids.

Not like I'm saying I'm special or something.

Just different.

My friend Spades tells me that all the time... just in less delicate terms.

_"You're crazy, Scratch, ya know that?"_

I heard the words laced heavily with a thick Manhatten accent play through my head.

_"Yeah, crazy as you, you lunatic Italian spaghetti-eater you."_

That was my retort that cold New York January morning, as we walked in our neat little forest-green and royal blue plaid skirts, with matching forest green blazers and white knee-length socks to our sheltered little Roman Catholic school in Manhatten.

_"Shut it, Scratch."_

_"Well, who's the one who walks to Brooklyn every morning at five am with her brother to meet me, just to walk back to Manhatten again?"_

_"Me."_

_"Precisely."_

I looked up at the setting sun. The smog of our great city enhanced the reds and golds and oranges.

Then I saw the little purple. That must be a cloud of angels.

At least that's what my mother used to say. That the little bit of purple in a sunset are just angels checking up on things through a screen of purple cloud-cover.

My mother was an avid beliver of angels.

At school, we sit in our perfectly starched uniforms and listen to the teachers tell us about angels -- how God made every one of us an angel to protect and guide us...

Our guardian angel.

I still think about that. How, in any room you are in, there is an angel with you.

Your angel.

And, how, here, in New York City, there are millions of angels.


	2. A Brief History

**Hey, ya'll! I don't own _Newsies_! Now Disney can't sue me! Wouldn't get much out of me though… all I own are my original characters and plot, plus a green iPod nano, some clothes, loads of books, some CDs and DVDs and a few other things including my Blue Blanky (a blanket my grandmother sewed me… a long time ago) which has holes in it and is of nothing but sentimental value. So don't take it away from me.**

**_Authors Note_: these are going to be really short chapters for a while. I'm sorry if that bugs you. Also, there will be more about the Time Warp (don't own that either, Don't know who does, but it's not me.)**

Chapter Two--

My mother died when I was three, about three months after my father. Despite my young age at the time of their deaths, I am able to rememember them quite accurately.

My mother had copper-gold hair, like mine, and medium blue eyes, darker at the center getting lighter as the reached the edge of the iris. Mine are a bit greyer than hers, with mid-blue flecks.

She was really nice…

My father had brown hair with the slightest sheen of red. His eyes were hazel. Nice like my mom…

I guess there just isn't more to say.

After the death of my parents, my brother Danny and I were sent to live with my granda.

Granddad has always seemed a bit eccentric to people, but he really is quite sane.

His grandfather was the last leader of the Brooklyn newsies, before the trade died out in about the 1920's...

By then there just weren't enough newsies to carry on the tradition.

My brother died crossing a street in late June of last year when I was thirteen; a female driver was talking on her cell phone and didn't watch out for him.(He died almost instantly.)

He was only sixteen.

After that, my granddad and I became a bit more... shall we say, seclusive? I sat in his office or the library the summer of Danny's death and read, or listened to Granda's stories.

He used to tell me about his grandfather, and his father... I loved all the stories.

That was the time my father looked most glorious, sitting in his moss green armchair, with his cane, carved in a rope-like pattern, telling me of the old days of Brooklyn, when he was leader.

Yes, leader. We still have a "newsies" thing going on; we just don't sell papers.

The role, after my fathers was to old, was given to the son of a good friend of my father; then to my brother; and now, me.

Yes, me.

The first female leader of Brooklyn.

We're a bit late... all the other buroughs had had at least three female leaders by the 1960's.

Or, as Granddad used to say "Not late. We're just classical."


	3. Canes

**Alright,** **shortest chapter _ever_! And all I talk about is canes! But it will be important, so read it! Now!**

**I don't own _Newsies_. Disney does. Now they can't have a cow over me claiming ownership to their precious movie. Haha!**

Chapter Three--

A cane has been given to every Brooklyn leader since about the 1840's. 

Granddad's was a glossy black, with a deep burgundy knob in the shape of a knot, like the kind you would tie with a rope. 

My father's was cherry wood, carved strait with a brass knob at the top. My fathers successor, Sean McDoulahn, had one of such a deep brown, it looked almost black. 

His had a tarnished pewter knobwith a Celtic knot carved in at the top. 

Danny's was light, with a polished obsidian knob at the top. 

Mine is a medium brown, carved strait like my father's (and Danny's too, now that I think of it.) It's knob is the same color. It is inlaid with a flower. 

The flower's petals are rounded off diamonds in mother of pearl, it's center a circle purple stone, and it's leaves were simarly shaped as the petals, in a green stone. 

I'm sorry to bore you with descriptions of our canes. 

But I thought it would be a nice little touch; you didn't think we passed around Spot Conlan's cane, did you? 

You thought we did! 

No, no, no; his cane is in a temperature-controlled case in our library, with Danny's and my father's and great-grandfathers. 

Speaking of Mister Conlan, we are of no relation. 

The Brooklyn leadership does not pass by blood, it passes by earning it. 

Many members of my family just happened to be deemed worthy of the honor. 

But back to my sunset at the docks with the little angel cloud 


	4. Dry Eyes Hinder You in a Fight

**I decided this was a chapter that I could not go into detail on. I'm trying to make this from the point of view of a teenage girl with a lot of problems and a sophisticated mind. She wasn't going to go into detail on this chapter - she's telling you a story and doesn't want to bother you with the nitty-gritty stuff. I WILL go into detail in a lot more later chapters though... these are just the really short buildup chapters. My C.A. (communication arts... grammar and language, basically) tells me that my creative writing style is sort of choppy, like I am actually talking to someone. SO I decided instead of correctiog myself, I might just try to flow with it for once. I will add more detail later... just not yet. It isn't time for it. And that bit about dry eyeballs I got out of one of the Artemis Fowl books by Eoin Colfer (he owns them.)**

** Also in this chapter, we get a tiny insight to one of Scratch's friends... Slip... a young man whom I based off a character in _The Outsiders_ by S.E. Hinton who owns the book. I based him off of Two-Bit just a little. For those of you who don't own the story, Two-Bit is a wisecracker with _very_ sticky fingers.;; **

**By the by, I don't own _Newsies_.**

Chapter Four--

I was contemplating the meaning of life and death and purple angel clouds when I heard a familiar walk pattern. 

without even turning around, I acknowledged the presence of the one and only Slip Danic, one of my best friends and leader of Staten Island. 

I stood up and spit into my right hand. 

"Whaddah ya say, Scratch? And don't tell me it's what I say." 

I rolled my eyes. "No, I say, that what you say, is exactly the opposite of what I say." 

"How's that for contrary!" 

I sighed. He was always quoting that movie that, as much as I love it, doesn't really show what happened. 

I sat back down on a stack of two crates. Slip sat on one. 

Hey, at four foot nine, you need to find power somewhere. 

Now Slip started in with the ramblings. As in, he started cussing out James Finch. 

"That little bas-" 

"soon," I finished for him. 

"-was hitting on my sister! On Janie! What a creep! He's, like, two years older than she is!" 

"He's _like_ two years older than she is?" 

"Whatevah. He's a creep." 

"And a pothead." 

"That too." 

He kept on rambling... about this, about that... niether of us really remember anything except Slip bragging about how he stole some crackers out of a convenience store. so I'll get to the part that's going to change our future. 

"Are you paying attention?" 

"_Etiam._" I answered. Yes. 

"Quit it with the latin." 

"No." 

So Slip looked at me. I looked at him. He stared. I blinked. 

"Haha, you lose!" 

I looked at him with "that look" that you seem to posess after living in Brooklyn all your life, and tell him: "Dry eyes hinder you in a fight. Staring sontests are for amatures. You must keep your eyes moist for a fight so you can see better," I said, rattling off lessons my granddad had recited to me and made me repeat back until they were engraved into my mind. 

Slip looked at me again -- with slight fear in his eye. 

"What?" 

"I'd blink more if I were you." 

I have excellent timing like that. 


	5. The Shirt

**Alrighty... in Chappie Uno, there was some stuff about Eye of the Tiger and iPods, right? Well, this is a rewrite, so ignore that. That stuff shall be coming up in this chapter though, and I still own none of it. Or _Newsies_. Or Time Warp... the song that is, which is actually very subliminally explicit... so don't think of it in that way. (It's the pelvic thrust that really drives you insane/Let's do the Time Warp again) And... in Canes... I was being stupid... and spelled straight like strait... it's a rewrite though, because I lost most of the original, so, you must forgive me. I also know I switch form present- to past-tense writing. All part of my style. Now, go read Quicksilver, by me! I'm taking OC's and will 3 you forever! Also... sorry for not indenting before each paragraph... when I save it, it just un-indents. Anyone know a way to fix that? ****Anyway, back to Slip and Scratch at the docks!**

The fight was soon over. O'Malley and his little crew had done it, but it didn't really matter. With a whistle I had several kids with slingshots (and for your information, those hurt. Bad. Very bad.) at our aid.

So I went home... with a black eye forming, yes, but not much more than that.

I arrived on the front porch of our house. It used to be the 'Brooklyn Lodging House for Young Ladies and Gentlemen' (or, more accurately, newsies) - seperate dormitories at opposite ends of the building with matrons and wardens, for decency, of course - and it still looked it. I unlocked the front door, waltzed in, grabbed some ice for my eye. It was a Friday, so Granddad was out doing errands, and wouldn't be back to the Adams family (snap, snap) home until later. Yes, Adams. And my real first name is Emily. Emily Wolfgang Adams.

I was greeted by the cat. A ball of fluffy long grey hair, his name was General Fluffers of 64th Kitty-Cat Regiment. He was missing the tip of his left ear, and had a sufficent amount of flubber.

"'Ello, Gen'ral!" I greeted.

He merely looked up from bathing behing his ears and gave a nod, which was a lot coming from our high-and-mighty King of the Lard Bucket.

I ran up to my room. The entire top floor, which used to be the boys dormitory, was my room. I had and old-fashioned iron-cast bunk bed, complete with pegs for my coat and an old-fashioned bathroom at one end, which still had the the counter through the middle with set-in basins (those boys would steal and sell anything if it wasn't strongly set in somewhere) I had a closet at one end, and m-

That shirt again. Off white. Button down. Style for a young teenaged boy... circa 1900.

I picked it up and folded it; it had been hanging off the top right bedknob of my bed. I laid it back on the top bunk (I sleep on the bottom) and sat at my desk.

Granddad and I think it belongs to the ghost of a newsboy who used to live here. We have no idea who, though.

Without looking, I start groping around for a pencil when I feel a burst of, not cold, but, different air. Cleaner, but not much. Older smelling, but not in a bad way; kind of dusty, like a buffalo robe you get to try on in an exhibit on Native Americans in a museum.

I turn around.

The shirt is gone.

**Ooh! Who do you think it is?**

**SHOUT OUTS:**

**Bittah: YAY! I can put your OC to good use! I am so happy! No, Granddad isn't Spot Conlan, but that was a very good guess. I'm so glad you limke _Quicksilver_, too! Mercury is so depressed, but, heck, I'm writing it for a friend... she just doesn't know it yet! (cue evil laugh) cough, cough. Anywho... I'm happy you are a faithful reviewer, and I 3 your first fic! It's pretty good. You should read mine! (Caitlin Girl) HATE IT! I am going to delete most of it and rewrite the first chapter or two, which was an original fic called _Breaths_, but my friend kept bugging me: "Pair me up with Racetrack! Pair me up with Racetrack! Geez, I wrote my story with three entire chapters of just you!" (she also forgot to note the Scratch O'Brien is mine, and she won't change it. Yeah.) But, anyway, I am posting up this chapter for you, so, thank you for keeping your eyes open long enough to review every... single... chapter... of Time Warp! **


	6. The Key

**I don't own _Newsies_. Anything that looks like it belongs to the movie belongs to Disney. I own all my original characters. You don't, so don't use them without my permission. Time Warp and the musical it is from I don't own either. I don';t display all the lyrics to Time Warp, just the ones I needed for the development of the story. Now read this chapter, review it; and if you haven't already, read _Quicksilver_, and then reviw that! **

I couldn't shake the feeling; it absorbed into my body. I breathed it out, and I breathed it back in again. It settled into my stomach, my throat, my heart.

Something was going to happen; I couldn't do anything about it. The Fates had tied me securely to my future with strong ropes woven of destiny and golden star dust from which there was no escape; Excalibur could not slice through them, much less Granddad's jackknife.

I shuddered, finished what little homework I had, and waited for...

...for...

...well, who knows what?

---

_Two weeks later; 5 PM, Scratch's room._

---

I heard a laugh. I whipped my head around, and heard more, coming from either people or beings I could not see. I turned back to my language exercise.

_It's astounding, time is fleeting  
Madness takes its toll  
But listen closely, not for very much longer  
I've got to keep control_

I remember doing the Time Warp  
Drinking those moments when  
The blackness would hit me and the void would be calling  
Let's do the time warp again...  
Let's do the time warp again!

My stereo was playing one of my favorite songs.

_It's just a jump to the left  
And then a step to the right  
With your hands on your hips  
You bring your knees in tight  
But it's the pelvic thrust that really drives you insane,  
Let's do the Time Warp again!_

I heard the laughter again; that of teenaged boys. There were sounds of scuffling, tripping... like multiple persons trying to do the Time Warp, and going opposite directions because it's their first time... but there was no one visible. There was a wolf whistle at "But it's the pelvic thrust that really drives you insane". Perves.

The laughter and dancing stopped; then there was nothing more happene until after dinner.

---

_A little later._

---

I pulled my pajamas out of the drawer.

Lying on top of them, an old-fashioned key attached to a dirty length of twine.

I pulled the fine brass-colored chain out from underneath my pajama top.

On the chain the same key as the string.

I slowly put the key back into the drawer, and went to bed.

My next encounter from antiquity would not happen for a while; not until next year, the summer of my fifteenth year here on earth.

**SHOUTOUTS:**

**midnight1899: of course you get shoutouts! Here's yours; I hope your enjoying the story so far!**

**Bittah: I'm so predictable. Yes, it is his shirt, and this chapter probably gave everything away, but oh well.**


	7. The Cane

**I haven't updated _Quicksilver_ in a while; but I'm on a major roll with this one, and when creativity comes knocking, use it.**

**Away we go with the legal razz-ma-tazz! Me no own _Newsies_. Disney owns _Newsies_. Cane is capitalized on purpose several times.**

**Me also know this date hasn't happened yet, but Me don't give a flip. Okey dokey? Good!**

---

_Next year; July 5th, 2007, 5 PM_

_Emily "Scratch" Wolfgang Adams is fifteen today._

_She is in her room, alone._

---

I turned fifteen three hours ago. I sit in my desk chair, polishing my cane. I finish the job, then slip the cane through the belt loop closest to the front of my left hip.

Not much has changed since I was fourteen, and not because the last few seonds of my fourteenth year on earth were three hours ago. I climbed out my window, down the fire escape, into the hot New York sun.

I headed to the docks.

---

_At the docks_

---

I rolled up the legs of my jeans to just below my knees. I was wearing sunscreen; I burn easily, but never tan. I have a barely peach skin tone, and a dusting of freckles accross my nose and cheeks. My Yankees baseball cap (you say "Red Sox", punk. Just try it.) was probably helping block out the sun, too.

I dangled my feet in the water; it was still light out.

I see an angel cloud, and...

...what the flip is Spot Conlan's Cane doing on the docks?

I slip on my flip-flops quickly. Not bothering to roll the legs of my jeans back down, I gingerly pick up the cane and sprint home, dirt and gravel sticking to my wet feet becuase my sandals are flipping it towards the soles of my feet.

I dash upstairs; Granddad is off doing something, as always.

I fling open the door to the library.

His Cane is in the case, and in my hand.

It's the same one, no doubt.

But the one in my hand is... newer. The gilded knob is brighter, albeit smudged with finger prints. I polish them off with the hem of my tee shirt. The black-painted wood isn't as fragile.

I walk up to my room, and lean the Cane against the foot of my bed. I rinse off my feet and flip flops, and walk back to my room.

The Cane is gone.

He's come back for it.

**Ooh... almost cliffie! **


	8. The Point of No Return

**I don't own _Newsies_. You already knew that, though. I don't own _The Phantom of the Opera_ or any songs in it. My physical descriptions of the newsies from this point on are not based on any historic references or the movie, except Spot's suspenders being pink (they were, historically) and said newsie's cane and eyes (from the movie.) their personalities I have tried to keep as historically accurate as possible. No three chappies from now on. You have to be good and review.**

---

_The next Friday, 4 PM_

---

Granddad was out running errands; going to the bank, grocery shopping, etc., etc. I was listening to my _The Phantom of the Opera_ movie soundtrack; "The Point of No Return", to be exact.

I went downstairst to the kitchen to grab a ginger ale. I walked back up the stairs to my room, listening to my music all the way.

_Master?  
Passarino - go away!  
For the trap is set and waits for its prey ...  
You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge, in pursuit of  
that wish, which till now has been silent, silent ..._

The door to my room opens right at the end of the staircase. I had left my door open. He was standing there; a boy in the shirt I had found last year. Pink suspenders, longish brown hair that had an almost curl, icy eyes, classical smirk.

_I have brought you,  
that our passions may fuse and merge -  
in your mind you've already succumbed to me  
dropped all defences completely succumbed to me -  
now you are here with me: no second thoughts,  
you've decided, decided ...  
_

I stopped where I was, three or four steps over halfway up.

_Past the point of no return -  
no backward glances:  
the games we've played till now are at an end ...  
Past all thought of "if" or "when" -  
no use resisting: abandon thought, and let the dream descend ..._

Dream. Ha. Whatever it was, it was slowly descending, just as I was slowly ascending.

_What raging fire shall flood the soul?  
What rich desire unlocks its door?  
What sweet seduction lies before us ...? _

Past the point of no return,  
the final threshold - what warm, unspoken secrets will we learn?  
Beyond the point of no return ...

So there I was; I once again felt the burn of the rough ropes of destiny and start dust the Fates had bound me with so long ago. I could not call for help, and I once again felt the old, dusty air surrounding me.

_You have brought me to that moment where words run dry,  
to that moment where speech disappears into silence,  
silence ... _

I have come here, hardly knowing  
the reason why ...  
In my mind,  
I've already imagined our bodies entwining  
defenceless and silent - and now I am here with you: no second thoughts,

I've decided, decided ...

Well, maybe not entwining...

But I had decided. There was no use fighting it; the slender, silver threads attaching me to the Here and Now began to snap, one by one.

I kept walking up the stairs.

_Past the point of no return -  
no going back now:  
our passion-play has now, at last, begun ...  
Past all thought of right or wrong -  
one final question: how long should we two wait, before we're one ...? _

Granddad? Would I see him again? Right... or wrong?

Become one? I felt more threads snap.

I'm serious. I actually felt them, and saw them.

I was a three feet away from the stairs...

...two...

...one...

_When will the blood begin to race, the sleeping bud burst into bloom?  
When will the flames, at last, consume us ...?  
Past the point of no return the final threshold -  
the bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn ...  
We've passed the point of no return ... _

Yes, we have. I had entered my room; we were now barely four feet away from each other.

He began walking towards me, I towards him.

I felt the last thread snap as I reached for my cane, the same time as he reached for his.

Suddenly it all made sense. The shirt, the key, the cane... but it was too late. And now the words echoed through my head: 'Let's do the Time Warp again!' Now I might never get back home.

The bridge we crossed was nothing but cinders now.


	9. On Their Side of the Time Warp

**I don't own _Newsies._ I lied. Skittery still has his pink long johns from the movie. I already told you I don't own it. Italics are Scratch's thougths at the time the story was taking place, which she is actually sort of mumbling aloud, though no one can understand her. In parentheses are part of the story she is telling after it happened. Enjoy it, kids!**

**P.S. To stop any confuzzleation, Scratch is not based off of me. Actually, she reminds me a little bit of my cat... but that was accidental.**

---

I woke up with a throbbing headache to a gaggle of varied young ladies and gentlemen (I use the words loosely) leaning over me.

"She sounds like she's from Brooklyn." _A_ _Manhatten accent._

"Great. Another punk with a slingshot." (a boy with faded pink long underwear added this) _Just try it, Pinky... _

"Does that mean we get to soak her?" (this said rather excitedly by another Manhattenite. They all were. Later I would discover I was in a newsies lodging house on Duane Street.)

"No. We can't tell for sure, and you know it. She's just been mumbling. Besides, she's a girl." _No, really, smart one!_

"I'm a girl! You discriminating against our gender?" (followed by groans)

"Where'd she get those clothes?"_Um... a store?_

"Would she quit mumbling?"

"She's bumped her head pretty hard." _Hence the headache._

"Ahh, Sleeping Beauty awakes!"

A punch (donated by me) followed by a string of profanity.

"Bless you too." Me. I blocked my Brooklyn accent. They were gathered around me. "Uh... will you let me breath?"

"So she isn't from Brooklyn." They didn't give me any more room.

"Wonderful detective work. I send my congradulations, you gifted child, you!" Me again.

"Smart aleck."

"I pride myself on it. May I move now?"

"We would've let you if you didn't punch Kit."

"I wouldn't of punched him if he didn't call me Sleeping Beauty. I utterly loathe princess movies."

Blank looks.

Ah... the time warp. Okey dokey. Late turn of the century clothing. I searched my memory for what Les wanted that mezzanine seat for...

"Um... I suppose you call them flickers?"

Knowledge returned. "You have money to see those?" Ah, yes. Newsies. I remebered the smug twit that had dragged me into this mess. Better pretend I had no moolah. They might mug me. Did they use paper money back then?

"I used to, Pinky."

"My name isn't Pinky."

"You all have failed to introduce yourselves, so I feel at liberty to invent names for you."

"Well what's your name?" he said, somewhat startled at my rather refined choice of words (if I do say so myself.)

"None of your flippin' business." Less refinement. A lot of glares. Alright. I shall tell a half-truth.

"Adams," I disclosed.

"What Adams?"

"Wolfgang."

"Huh? That's a guy's name."

"It doesn't have to be. I was named after the composer who's father exploited he and his little sister's musically inclined child genius."

"Um..."

"Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart," I replied, exasperated at his lack of intelligence.

"I thought you were Wolfgang Adams."

"Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart is the compser's name, you twit."

"Oh." Cue intelligent look. "Never heard of h--"

"I shouldn't have expected you too. My foot is falling asleep from lack of exercise. Let me up." I didn't wait for permission. I stood up...

Before everything went black, A rare oath came out of my mouth, cursing Spot Conlan.

---

**I lost the names of all the loverly people who reviewed... so I'll have my friend slap my hand for you all. I apologize, and to make up for it, I got this chapter out as fast as I could. **


	10. The Time Traveler's New Clothes

I woke up. I had a headache.

On was laying down in the same room, on the same table again. Still blocking my accent, I began:

"How long was I out f--"

"Ten minutes, tops," replied Pinky.

"Better not have raped me."

He got this horrified look on his face. I'm sure I had an 'Oh _snap_ did he really!?' look on mine until he said "Why would I do anything like that!?"

"Joking..."

"Umm..."

(Awkward silence)

"Screw this." (puzzled looks directed at me) I stood up and walked to the door without falling again.

"Where are you going?" Another newsie besides Pinky asked.

"Well, it's not that late... I bet they have an afternoon edition out, right?" I had said the right thing. By just saying "afternoon edition" instead of "afternoon edition of a paper out", they assumed that I was a newsie: one of them.

"Umm..."

"You need better clothes." (given by a girl with blonde hair of varied shorter lengths like she had hacked at chunks of it of with a jack knife)

I protectively clutched my grey cable knit sweater. It used to belong to my brother and still smelled like him. (Yes, I did wash it. But I always put it back in his dresser so it always smelled like him.)

"You're going to get really hot."

Death glare supplied by me.

"Well, better trousers then. And a pair of better shoes..." Here she looked at my lime green high-top Converse.

I was led to the attic. Blondie made me stand while she lifted clothes from an old black trunk to me to see if they would fit. She eventually flung a pair of worn tawny trousers with black suspenders, some very scuffed brown boots (the laces didn't match, surprise, surprise) and an undershirt with sleeves that that had seen much, much better days.

"Won't someone miss these?" I asked.

"No. They've all been grown out of, or boys have left them here when they left, or sometimes factories give us clothing with faulty seams and such to get themselves good press. That's how we get most of our coats. Churches sometimes distribute clothing, too." She nodded at the boots. "Those were Skittery's a month ago."

"Which one's Skittery?"

"Pink long underwear."

I looked at the boots. Pinky wore these a _month_ ago!? "Did he have a sudden growth spurt?"

She gave me a funny look. "No. He wore those from when he was twelve since last month. We all scraped up some money to add to his fund for new shoes for his birthday."

"Twelve!?"

"Leather stretches." She found some cut off stockings. "We cut off the tops and hem them so we can have shorter stockings during the summer," she explained. "Then we used the cut off tops to make mitts for the winter."

"Ah." I pulled on the clothing, adjusting the suspenders. It was actually pretty comfortable, and it smelled like it had been washed before being put away. I pulled my sweater on over it all and pushed up the sleeves.

"Catch." She threw something at me.

I caught an old chocolate cabbie cap. "Thanks."

"Yup." Awkward silence filled the room as she put the other clothes back in the trunk and locked it. "Give me your old clothes and I'll put them in here." She gestured to a smaller trunk. I handed her the clothes and she locked them up.

That's about the time I realized I didn't have my cane.


	11. How Great His Beauty

**Still don't own _Newsies_. Or _The Little Mermaid _Disney style. Or _Pirates of Penzance.._**

Blondie started saying something about how we needed to go and get me a skirt. I had been wondering why I was the only girl dressed in boy's clothes... even Blondie with her short hair had a long brown skirt. But this didn't matter now.

"Where's my cane?" I was suddenly downstairs. I was still blocking my accent.

"You didn't come with one," Pinky told me.

"You think it's Co--" someone else started.

"Naw... he wouldn't give it to someone else, especially a girl," Pinky replied.

This made the feminist newsgirl mad. "What? We can be responsible for a cane!" More moans not unlike those that were provked by her earlier feminist remark followed.

"I _told_ you she's from Brooklyn!"

_No!_ I thought to myself. _My cane, not the Cane. Grr. _"Listen. No cane, alright? I get it. Sorry. I'm not from Brooklyn," I lied. "Don't freak out." They gave me puzzled looks. I searched through my mind for a phrase more suited to the time period. "Um... don't flip your lid." I don't know if that was one, but if it wasn't they were smart enough to use context clues to figure it out.

"Why is this cane so important to you, then?"

"It was my grandfathers," I quickly invented a story. "He died a few months ago."

"Oh." They didn't ask me any more.

"Um, we need to go down to Medda's to get you a skirt," Blondie cut in.

"I'm there."

We both went off. I guess the Swedish Medowlark did exist.

We had arrived. Blondie's real name was Mary. No last name, no newsie nickname.

Medda had red hair, but it was darker than movie-Medda's. She didn't wear pink (due to the red hair, I assume) and was a chain-smoker. _Does wonders for your singing voice, doesn't it, Medda! _I thought. Oh, and a heavy Swedish accent. Okay. _She_ was acutally Swedish.

For my sanity's sake, you need to imagine parts of the accent. As much as I'm for accuracy, I'm not going to imitate all of it for you. I'm Scratch Adams, and you can't make me do anything.

"Yes, yes? Ah, new girl needs skirt? Right. Very vell, here vee go." She was fluttery, and (to my relif) was without an oversized feather to wave in my face. "My, you are short, aren't you?" I glared. "Fine, then, little girl. How old are you? Twelve?That's too young for skirts. Should you have dress then, no?"

"I'm fifteen, ma'am."

"Oh. Well. you could still use dress; make you look younger, no?"

"No, thank you."

She made a mocking face that resembled that of one of the naughty boys I have the honor of watching each Sunday after Mass. "Here's skirt, then. Now, shoo shoo. I have show." As soon as she turned her back I made a face right back at her.

"Pull your skirt on here," Mary told me,

I did as I was told.

We turned a different way. After a few blocks, we were at the distribution office.

I brushed the place on my skirt (it was a dark blue-grey) where the hidden pockets were. I had remembered to slip some change into them. My paper money had stayed the same, but my two dimes, my one nickle and my three pennies had changed into old-fashioned money that I could use. Thank heavens.

"Who's dis?" I turned to see a boy. He had dirty blonde hair (and by this I mean that he had a brownish blonde hair color; I'm sure his hair was dirty too but it was brownish blonde and this is what I mean, kaisies?). He was about five inches taller than I was. Fine, he was also very good looking. Unaveragely good looking. So good looking if he was a girl I'm sure Ursula would try to steal his beauty and stick it in a seashell instead of Ariel's voice.

"This is Wolfgang Adams." Mary was standing behind me and answered for me before I even had a chance to open my mouth. Which told me he was a leader. That's an unwritten rule: you don't introduce yourself to the leader. You need someone else to do it.

"Ah. Hello, Wolfgang Adams." Since he was a leader he most likely already knew my name and every single fact they had picked up about me. This was just a test to see if I could handle it. Don't ask me what "it" is or was; it just is "it" and all leaders test you for it. Including me. Don't tell me that I can't test for it if I don't know what "it" is. I can. You just need "it", kaisies?

"Hello." Well, actually, that's the translation. It came out "Uh well um helah... uh actually hello." Why was I feeling so tounge tied?

"I am Kid Blink." He was amused at my incoherent speech. I assumed most girls talked him like that. He was... well... there's not a word for that utter perfection...

"Beg pardon?" The strike leader? Here? In front of my face? Whoah.

He rolled his eyes amusedly at my remark. Oh, have I told you about his eyes? They're like this greyish blue until you look near the pupils and then they're this greyish blueish tan color and wow they're gorgeous.

"Kidh B-linkh," he mockingly enunciated for me, adding the "h" sound at the end like my drama teacher always tells us to do.

"Oh." I was waiting for him to reach out his hand...

...and...

...yes!

His right hand was extended toward me. I think he eliminated the spitting part because I'm a girl, but I took his hand anyway and firmly shook it, which surprised him. Never, _ever _make the first move to shake someone's hand as a newcomer. Especially the leader.

"Welcome to Manhatten."

"Thank you."

He nodded and went back to his spot in line, a ways away from us.

"He's a dish, isn't he?"

I turned to Mary. "Whah?" I have never talked girly with anyone besides Spades before. Especially someone I hadn't even known for a day.

"Keep him. I have someone else." She smiled, showing white teeth. They were nearly perfect; only one of them was only slightly askew.

"Thanks." We shared a girlish giggle. Wait, I just giggled girlishly? Never happened to me before. Not even talking with Spades.

"He's looking at you. Don't look back!" She caught my almost involutary turn of the head. More giggles. We were at the end of the line and the others weren't paying attention.

"Thanks again," I said during our second giggle session.

Reading people does not come naturally to me; I had to learn it. Which means I'm not the best at it. But I read that Mary considered me a friend, and that she knew that I knew that and that I considered her one, too.

"So who's your someone?" I inquired.

"Someone," she winked.

I smiled and caught a glimpse of _him_. _He_ was looking at me. I did one of the most daring things a girl can ever do:

I waved.

And _he, _standing amongst the boys who looked like his main men: Pinky and Kit and a few others...

...waved back.

I turned and started what seemed like natural conversation with Mary. As in, our words didn't match our expressions. We were talking about her someone (his name I had yet to discover) while seeming perfectly nonchalant. Yay us.

The line had moved up; we were a little over halfway to geting our papers. I had already decided on twenty.

_He_ ordered one hundred.

To say it as Major-General Stanley's daughters in _Pirates of Penzance_: "...how great his beauty."


	12. Wolfie

_I was looking at the dates I had last updated all of my stories, and realized I should probably invest some time in this one... so, here ya are! Please remember to read my disclaimer, and that I no longer type out the New York accents phonetically. Also, I have decided to take some liberties with historical accuracy. In other words, Blink doesn't wear an eyepatch, because he is only partially blind in one eye. (I don't know if he was missing his entire eye, if he was just partially blind or if he was looking for some people to buy paers off him for sympathy. Pretty much every website says something different.)_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own _Newsies, _nor do I necessarily agree with some of the views expressed in this chapter... but remember when reading this chapter that this story is taking place in 1899. I don't want hate mail telling me I am close minded for "hating" homosexuals (because I don't) or unChristian for not "hating" them (in fact, I _am_ Christian. You can be Christian and not "hate" homosexuals. I know several people like that.) Okee dokee, on with the show._

_P.S. Even though Miss Adams uses it a lot, "Woah-kay" is _my_ trademark word. Don't use it, please. You will make me very ticked off._

---

Okay, wow. In less than twenty-four hours, I had gone through a time warp, lost my cane, bought papers at a distribution office and met a really attractive guy, who happens to be the leader of the real 1899 newsies strike.

_But, wait... d__idn't Kid Blink have an eye patch?_

Not that I was complaining or anything... but, that puzzled me. And it continued to puzzle me the entire day, except for that time when I forgot about this entire where-is-Kid-Blink's-eyepatch thing because the paper distribution officer was being a jerk.

"Fifty papes." Mary handed the man behind the safety grate a quarter, and he handed her fifty papers. I copied her, almost exactly...

"Twenty papers, please," I asked, making sure my accent was still blocked. I looked up and... _Okay..._ why _is this guy glaring at me? I gave him his dime, right?_ I checked to make sure I did, and there it was, on the man's side of the grate.

"Was that... _sarcasm_... is your voice, you little slut?" _Slut!?_ _Woah-kay, uncalled for!_

I had to defend myself. I knew people were watching, and they weren't going to help me unless I first helped myself. "_Sarcasm_? All I did was ask for twenty papers. And where do you go off calling me a slut!?"

"_Where_ do I go off calling you a slut? Right here, you little hussy." _Oh, so it's hussy now, eh?_

This next move of mine was very stupid, but the only insult that came to my mind right then (even though several of my newsies in Brooklyn were gay) was: "You know, that would be insulting, if it didn't come from a queer!" _Ugh. I _hate_ saying that word that way!_ The man's face grew beet red. No one spoke a word as I slowly realized I should have picked something different to say.

_Oh, sh--_

"Really, Turkey. The girl said _please _and without any undertone of sarcasm. Lighten up and give her the papers she paid for." I looked to my left, with the same suprised face as every other newsie (at least those I could see). This little speech (which saved my life, or at least one or two of my limbs) was delivered by Kid Blink (who still did not have an eye patch).

"Cut out of it, kid. And for the last time, it's _Turken. Mister_ Turken to you." I couldn't tell if the man was addressing the boy to my left by a nickname (Kid) or as just the general slang term describing children (kid). I think it was the latter, but whatever it was, Kid Blink just gave Turken an even stare, until the man grudgingly picked up my dime and slid my papers in the space between the counter and the grate. I reached for my papers, but Kid Blink got to them first.

"Five, ten, fifteen... eighteen?" He looked at Turken with a bemused smile. "Well, I think you owe Wolfie here two more papers." _Wolfie?_ Whatever. Kid Blink was helping me, and that's what mattered.

"If the little hussy wants two more papers, she needs to pay another penny."

"Really? Because that was clearly a dime she handed you. So I figure if you don't want to give Wolfie two more papers, you should refund her for those two with a penny. Your choice," he shrugged.

Needless to say I stood rooted to my spot absolutely dumbfounded until Turken handed me my two papers. I grabbed the other eighteen that were resting by the arm Kid Blink had set on the counter and turned to go. As I walked down the ramp I heard snickers and whispers that were silenced as soon as I felt a hand rest on my right shoulder.

"You sell with me today, Wolfie."

Oh wow. Oh wow. Ohhhh wow...

---

Oh wow. I really _suck_ at selling newspapers. _Great way to impress the guy, Emily. You idiot..._

"You better just give up, Wolfie. It's a over half past three; that afternoon edition is old news." I agreed. I had five papers left... five! I really truly hated myself at that point. I couldn't sell five measly little...

"Girl! You, paper girl!" I turned. "How much for all five papers?"

"Five cents..."

"Done." She ripped the five papers from my hand, put a nickle in my empty palm, and ran off the way she came, not telling me why she needed five freakin' newspapers. I turned to Kid Blink, who was laughing.

"What?"

"You are one lucky newsie, Wolfie. If she hadn't've come along, you would be eating those papers for dinner."

"I know that!"

"C'mon, Wolfie. We have an evening edition to sell to the lovely citizens of New York City," he joked as he sauntered back to the distribution center.

Okay, so this guy _never_ gave up a chance to call me "Wolfie". Whenever he talked to me, he always used "Wolfie". Why? I had no freakin' clue. It was getting on my nerves. "Why do you do that?"

He turned to me. "Do what, Wolfie?"

"Say my name in every sentence you direct at me. 'You better just give up, Wolfie.' 'C'mon, Wolfie.' Seriously, what the--" his hand gripped my arm firmly as he pulled me out of the way of a messenger in a cardinal red uniform on a bike.

"You should be more careful, Wolfie," he chastised. If it wasn't for that smile that briefly crossed his face, would have thought he used my name accidentally.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I'm your leader, Wolfie. You shouldn't question me."

I opened my mouth to say something but promptly shut it. We turned the corner and the distribution office was there. We quickened pace and soon reached the end of a very short line.

"Is Wolfgang your real name, Wolfie?"

"Why do you care, Kid Blink?" Haha. I was going to get him back.

"I told you not to question your leader. And you can call me Kid, or Blink. You don't have to use the whole name." He knew what I was doing. And it just amused him.

"So I'm just supposed to follow your lead blindly without any regard to what I think or feel?" I did say that angrily. I never led like that, _never_. And if this Kid Blink person did, I was leaving Manhatten and joining up with Brooklyn.

Blink turned to me, momentarily shocked. "No, Wolfie. I can see you're too smart to do that. Just remember to question me to my face, politely. Don't backtalk me, don't insult me, don't embarass me in front of my newsies. Understand, Wolfie?" He was looking directly into my eyes the entire time, so I could only muster up enough brain power to nod. Without breaking eye contact, he raised his left eyebrow. "Are you sure, Wolfie?"

Oh, fine. So he was one of those say-it-don't-nod-it type of leaders. Okay, so I was too. "Yes, Blink."

"Good," he said as he pushed me in front of him. "Now go get your papers... and try not to piss off Turkey this time."

---

So I sold my thirty papers (Blink made me get more this time) with ease. There had been a headline about how some freak killed his next-door nighbor's cat. Blink and I just screamed "MURDER!", sold a few papes each, and got out of that selling spot ASAP so they wouldn't catch our improved headlines. This is where I learned that very few newsies ever used selling spots when the headlines were bad. After we were done selling, we bought some dinner at one of the few food carts that was still open this late. It was getting dark, so we started on our way to the lodging houses.

"So, Wolfie, are you staying at the girls lodging house on Duane Street?"

"Wait... there's two?"

"Ah, that's right. You spent your morning in the boy's lodging house, didn't you, Wolfie?"

"Yeah... I guess. But if it's the boys place, why were some girls there?"

"Well, Wolfie, Mary was there because she is our unofficial nurse, and as a chaperone. The others were there because an unfamiliar girl showing up in a crumpled heap on the doorstep of a newsboy lodging house is a rare and odd sight."

"So I was a momentary freak show?" I joked.

"That is it exactly, Wolfie," he joked back.

I couldn't help myself. If he wasn't wearing an eyepatch, why did they call him Kid Blink? So, I just sorta let it burst out... "Why do they call you Kid Blink?" Wait. _Shouldn't've done that..._

But Blink didn't seem offended. "Because I'm slightly blind in my left eye. Why do they call you Wolfgang?"

Snap. In a matter of milliseconds, I had dug through my brain matter and remembered something about myself: "I play the piano." _Yeah. I'm good..._

"Really, Wolfie? Because this morning you led Skittery to think it's because your parents named you that." His voice had suddenly become a little stern, a little wary. A little like mine gets when I'm questioning a suspicious person on my territory.

_Okay. Maybe I'm not so good._ The next lie was an easy one, though: "I woke up lying on a table surrounded by strange people posing theories about my origin, including that I was from Brooklyn. What would you have done?"

"I certainly would not have told them my parents had named me Kid Blink, Wolfie." His voice was still stern.

"So I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Please, forgive me."

He chuckled. "Au contraire, Wolfie. I think you are very sharp. But I suppose your mind wasn't very clear. From what I heard about you, Wolfie, you couldn't stand up without fainting."

"Well, I only tried standing up once and--"

"And then you cursed our friend Spot Conlon, Wolfie. What was that about?" Hos voice had taken on that tone again, except more clearly this time. We had stopped and he had me with my back to a brick wall. I got a clear look at his face, which was vaugely illuminated by the light from a distant lampost. The stern and wary tone was reflected in his eyes.

"It's nothing. Really, nothing."

"Are you sure you're not a conquest of his, Wolfie?"

"What!?" _Okay, buddy. You're cute and all, but that goes too far._ "Listen, I have gotten called a hussy and a slut today by some idiot and I really do not think I need any more of it--"

"I'm not saying you sleep around, Wolfie. I'm asking your relationship to Spot Conlon, and if you are a one-night stand of his, or a girl who trusted him and got taken advantage of, you need to know that that fact does not make you a whore. I need to know who you are and where you come from before I let you roam around with my newsies. Is that understood, Wolfie?"

_What!?_ "'Roam around'? Are you suggesting..."

"No, Wolfie. I am not suggesting that you sleep around, and I have told you that." He was pretty angry by this time. "But before you are around my newsies --especially because I have some of the youngest under my care-- I need to know if you're safe or not. Understand?"

I shrank back against the brick wall "Yes, Blink." I murmured.

"Good." Noticing some of the looks we were getting, he took me by my upper left arm, firmly but gently, and led me into a nearby alleyway. I stood against a wall, and he faced me. "Spit it out, Wolfie." His voice was a little more gentle this time.

I straightened my shoulders and looked right up into his eyes. "I'm Wolfgang Adams. I once lived in Brooklyn, yes, but I am not some spy of Conlon's and am in no way asscociated with his newsies."

"Then where is your accent, Wolfie? And why did you cuss him out earlier today?"

I stopped blocking my accent. "Some of your newsies thought I was from Brooklyn. One seemed very eager at the prospect of beating me up for that fact, so I blocked my accent."

He was looking at me, eyes wide with suprise. "Blocking accents is hard. But you still didn't tell me why you were --maybe still are-- angry with him. Like I said, if you are some conquest of his I won't think any less of you. If I will think less of anyone it will be him."

"Because he kicked me out of Brooklyn." That wasn't too far from the truth, was it? "He thought I was a spy from Coney, or something. So I got kicked out of Brooklyn, walked here, got beat up by some idiots--"

"Did they rape you, or try to?" He seemed genuinely concerned, especially since he hadn't used my name.

"No. They heard someone coming so they stopped and ran off." Why did I hate lying to him so much? It was easier to lie to my granddad than it was to lie to this boy I had met only today.

He nodded. "Thank you, Wolfie. I'll walk you to your lodging house." I was suddenly grateful he didn't talk about the clothes. _Mary must not have told him_.

He put a hand in the small of my back and guided me out of the alley. My heart almost stopped. Hey, don't give me that look! I like the guy... so sue me! Anyway, after a few feet he dropped his hand and started chuckling. "You've got spunk, Wolfie."

"Why do you say that?" Boy oh boy was it a relief not to block my accent anymore!

"Your encounter earlier today with Turkey, and just now. You can give some fairly murderous looks, Wolfie."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Yeah, Wolfie. It is. Do you remember who it was that wanted to soak you for being from Brooklyn?"

"Nope."

"Hmm. I have a hunch who it is anyway." We had reached the girl's lodging house. "I'll come in with you and explain to Mary why you blocked your accent. After that, you're on your own, Wolfie. There are some troublemaking girls who will most likely call you a whore and such things because you and I spent two-thirds of the day selling together. They're not much to worry about; no one listens to them, including me."

"Are they really that obnoxious, Blinkie?"

He looked down at me, making intense eye contact. I felt my heart beating against my ribcage. "Call me 'Blinkie' again and I will have to punish you, Wolfie." He sent me a little smile (which made my pulse speed up to an even more dangerous rate) to let me know he was kidding before he turned and opened the door to the lodging house, holding it for me to enter before him. As soon as I walked in I felt unfriendly glares and turned to see three girls watching me angrily. Blink had just started walking towards Mary, who was talking to a sad looking young girl in the corner.

I caught up to him. "I assume those are the troublemakers," I said and discreetly nodded in the direction of the three girls I mentioned earlier.

"That would be them, Wolfie."

Mary saw us and sent the child on her way. Blink explained the situation to Mary, who nodded and showed me to the dormitories after Blink had left.

"How was your day?" She asked mischieviously.

"His eyes are gorgeous..." I trailed off, leaving Mary laughing.

She showed me to my bunk (a bottom one near the front, which means it was furthest away from the washroom) and I thanked her for not telling Blink about the clothes.

She gave me a puzzled look. "I did, though."

I looked back at her, as suprised as she was.

A grin began growing on her face. "He must liiike yooou!"

I threw a pillow at her.

But secretly I hoped he did.

---

_OH._

_MY._

_GOSH._

_Don't you guys love me? I wrote you a reaaaaaaly loooong chapter! And I did it all in less than twenty-four hours!_

_So review! Pretty please? Even if you don't have an account it will let you review!_


	13. Metaphorical Wheel Tracks

_Here I am with chapter (unlucky) number thirteen! I hope it turns out alright. I also do not own Costco, and for those of you who don't know Costco is a store that sells almost everything -groceries, books, socks- in economy-sized packages and extra large containers. Yes, that will pertain to my story._

PLEASE READ THIS: _My Spanish-American War info is from Wikipedia, so may not be completely accurate, and I cannot find what dates exactly the prices of the papes were raised. I also can't seem to find exacly how the bigwigs got away with keeping the prices raised from August of 1898 to July of 1899 without the newsies striking sometime then. Most of my newsie strike info is from _Kids On Strike!_ by Susan Campbell Bartoletti. These resources give me conflicted information, or sometimes vauge information. In reading_ Kids On Strike!,_ it seems that Pulitzer and Hearst just wanted to make more money so they raised the price again. It seems that they put out so many "extras" (which are papers with extra news that are printed in between the morning, afternoon and evening editions of a paper) that the newsies didn't mind until a little later, though why is unclear. I have decided that for this story, I will mix what was said in_ Kids On Strike! _and the Wikipedia article. As far as accuracy goes, this story isn't very close; I'm sorry. I wish I could offer a more accurate story, but I do not have the resources or the time. Thank you for your understanding! and, as always, please read and review!_

_Another note: everyone has a New York accent. I just don't type it out; the newsies in the real strike actually found that insulting._

---

Mary woke us up the next morning by running a stick accros the slats of all the bottom bunks. "Up 'n' atom, ladies!" she called. I never had dallied in the morning back home, and here in 1898 (according to the year on the papes I sold yesterday) I gave myself no exception. I got up and stretched, then pulled on my skirt and shirt. I rushed to the bathroom and stood in front of a mirror with two other girls and finger-combed my hair, pulling it into a somewhat-high ponytail with the ever-present ponytail holder on my left wrist. _They probably didn't have these back then -I mean, now- but what the heck_, I thougt to myself. Like my no-tolerace policy for lazy people, I hate having my hair in my face.

I shoved my way to a sink, where I washed my face and brushed my teeth with the toothbrush Mary issued me. You know what they brushed their teeth with? Baking soda. Freaking_ baking soda_! I watched and learned: I shook some of the powder from the big tin worthy of a place on a Costco shelf into the palm of my hand and mixed it with water to make a paste. I loaded that onto my toothbrush and brushed with little circles on my teeth. Wouldn't the school nurse back home be proud of me?

I checked to make sure the money in my skirt pocket was still there. I wasn't stupid; I knew if I patted or stuck my hand into my pocket on the street I was game for pickpockets and theives. Then, I was on my way to the distribution office, following Mary while trying not to make it so obvious I did not quite know my way there on my own yet.

"Good morning, Wolfie."

I jumped. There he was, walking nonchalantly with his hands in his pockets. The brim of his grey newsboy cap, which was pulled snugly on his head, shaded his eyes from the sun. "Did I startle you?" he chuckled.

"Yes, actually. My poor heart is all a-flutter. You really shouldn't do that, you know. I have a delicate constitution," I replied, hiding my embarassment my releasing all my sarcastic comments at once.

Blink chuckled. Again. He does that a lot. "Really? So, that's not an embarassed blush spreading across your face?" I probably haven't told you this, but I blush. A lot. Especially when I am embarrassed.

_Crap,_ I thought. "Nope. No embarassment. Just a delicate constitution." Saved by another sarcastic comment.

"Oh, dear. Do you feel faint?" he joked back, "Should I guide you to the shade? Or just to the distribution office? You seem a little lost."

The blush that had just been fading crept back into my cheeks with a vengeance. It was trying to ruin me! "Uhm... distribution office would be great, thanks."

"This way, then." He turned, and I followed.

---

Yesterday I had learned from the papers that it was April of 1898. I had been kicked back a few months shy of 109 years. Yesterday I had been too busy to think about it, but now I was wondering why April of 1898 sounded so familiar to me. I was also wondering if being booted back to April of 1898 meant that I would be turning sixteen in July of 1898... I didn't really want to. I mean, I had only been fifteen for a week before I had got booted here. I wanted to be fifteen for the next year, not the next four months.

"Wolfie? Are you alright?"

"Oh, um well, yeah heh..." he responded to my blathering with raised eyebrows and a concerned look. "Uh, if a person turned fifteen in July but was kicked back in time to April of 109 years back do you think they would turn sixteen in July or remain fifteen?"

His concerned look grew, and he stopped walking. He took me gently by the shoulders and turned me to face him. "Wolfie, do you feel ill? Overheated?"

"No, no, I'm fine... just... I dunno. Just curious."

He nodded, still looking concerned. "I think that they would remain fifteen, and instead of their birthday being on, say, the twelfth of July, it would be on the twelfth of April, if that makes any sense to you."

"Oh, uh. Yeah. It does." He just looked at me, nodded, and continued on his way, me tagging behind him.

After a few more minutes walk, in which Blink had taken a few furtive glances at me as if trying to discern whether I was ill, quirky, or just plain crazy, we arrived at the distribution office. There were two men writing headlines on a colossal chalkboard, and they were almost finished. I remembered why April of 1898 was familar.

"The fat cats finally did it," Blink chuckled. all thoughts of how insane I might be having vanished. "We're going to get some really great headlines."

It was April 25th, 1898. "U.S. DECLARES WAR ON SPAIN" was written across the top of the chalkboard in large, but carefully chalked capital letters. I remembered reading about the Spanish-American War in History with Sister Catherine.

"C'mon, Wolfie," Blink said, clapping me on the back. "We got papes to sell."

---

That was the most interesting thing that happened for a while, until a few weeks later. To make up for the expenses of having foreign war correspondence reporters out in the field, the papers raised the price of papers to us newsies from fifty cents per hundred papes to sixty cents per hundred papes.

"That's totally unfair," I complained to Blink as he stood, deciding what to do about the price. I perked up a bit and said "We should strike!"

Blink gave me a sideways look that really did send my heart a-flutter. "No. We're selling enough papes that the price increase won't hurt us. Besides, it'll go back down when the war's over," he said, and walked up to buy his papes. The rest of the newsies, myself included, played follow the leader and got into line, too. We had to eat, right?

---

It didn't happen exactly as I thought it would. On August 12th, 1898, the war was over but the prices did not go back down.

"It's completely unfair! We need those ten cents; they don't!"

"Wolfie, please. The papes have been pumping out so many extras we're making just as much, if not _more_ than we were when it was fifty per hundred. Don't get all worked up; remember that delicate constitution of yours." Needless to say, he never let me forget that comment.

"I won't hear no complaints about the price! If you don't like it, then work in the mills, you trollop!" Turkey had heard us; we had been talking too close to the front of the line.

"Shut your gob before your heart explodes, Turkey," Blink said while slamming down fifty cents onto the counter. "And quit calling people names. You need to play nice, or I'll stick you in a corner with your nose to the wall." He grabbed his hundred papes and continued down the steps, leaving me to ask for my fifty papers. I rifled through and counted them; Turkey still liked to try and cheat me. After confiming all fifty were there, I headed down the stairs and went walking towards a group of little old ladies; I had learned early on that they preferred to buy papers from us girl newsies than our usually much more crude male counterparts.

"If the price stays and the extras go, we'll strike back," Blink said, drawing up beside me. _He_ had already sold a dozen of his papers to stupid prissy rich girls buying papers for their daddies, adjusting their dress bodices to ride a little lower before they went to buy a paper. And Turkey calls _me_ a trollop. "Don't fret, Wolfie; I'll take care of you."

"How kind of you to comfort me in my time of need."

He chuckled, tipped his hat and walked to find a selling spot for the day.

It took me until noon to sell all my papers. I began calculating. Fifty cents earned minus thirty cents expenses equals twenty cents profit.

I was screwed. I knew it. I could not sell a stack of papers worth my life. Maybe if I skipped lunch?

"Bad day, Wolfie?"

I looked up at him. He had gotten a little taller in the past month. "Yeah."

He raised his eyebrows. "No sarcasm, eh? It must be going badly. C'mon, walk with me."

I walked, silently. I knew if push came to shove, I was going to have to find another job. What was there? Factory? Mills? I inwardly shuddered. No, no; besides educating us on the Spanish-American War, Sister Catherine taught us what went on in factories and mills. Cotton cough. Perverted overseers that had you discharged and blacklisted from every other mill or factory in the country if you didn't respond positively to their advances. No. No mill or factory for me. What did Sarah do in that movie based on the newsies strike? Doilies? Maybe I could make those.

"Wolfie?"

"Oh. Hi."

"Hello. You went off somewhere."

"Oh. Just thinking." He didn't respond; he just looked at me expectantly. I didn't lie. I felt bad about lying to him. "About changing jobs," I mumbled, embarassed. I mean, all the newsies had been nice to me; I had made new friends and...

He looked surprised and almost disapointed. "What would you do, Wolfie?"

"I was thinking fac-"

The syllable was barely out of my mouth before he grabbed me by my shoulders roughly and pulled me into an alley, my back to the brick wall, just like our very first conversation so long ago. "No," he said, his voice steely. I just stared at him.

He continued, loosening his grip on my shoulders. "Not a factory. Not a mill. I will not stand for you to get shut up in an overheated, dangerous factory with machines to catch your hair and rip off your scalp. I will not allow you to get cotton cough. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Blink."

"Alright," he said, releasing my shoulders. "We'll make this work. _I'll _make this work. Hear?"

"Yes, Blink."

"Could you say something else to me once besides 'Yes, Blink'?" he snapped, exasperated.

"Uhh..." I said, oh-so-intelligently._ I think the sun has addled your brains, buddy-boy,_ I thought silently.

"Or 'Uhh', or any of those other silly noises you make? Could you say something for once that isn't sarcastic? Just once?"

He was acting weird. "Are you alright?"

He shook his head. "I'm fine. Perfectly fine." He walked out of the alleyway.

I rushed to catch up. "Are you mad at me?"

"No. I'm not. Just annoyed."

"Why?"

"Because it's impossible to carry on an intelligent conversation with you. At least for me. Do you just not like me, for some reason? You joke and laugh with everyone else, but I just get asinine noises and sarcastic comments about your delicate constitution!" No doubt about it. Blink was pissed. Royally.

"I'm... I'm sorry?" We had stopped by a stack of crates. He stood with his back to me, and sighed, before sitting down.

"No, no... I... Uhh." He put his head in his hands.

"Are you alright?" I asked again, holding back my comment about how he was the one making the asinine noises now.

"To be perfectly honest? No. I have to worry about the paper's price. And my newsies. And y-" He stopped there, abruptly.

"Who or what is 'y-'? I asked.

"Nobody. Nothing."

"Liar."

"Fine. Somebody. Something."

"Which is it?"

"Sombody. Sombody important."

My heart fell to the ground. It rolled into the street, where it was promptly kicked up by a horse in the direction of some boys playing stickball. The batter hit my poor heart back into the street, where it was trampled into the ground by the wheels of various carts.

Y-. What names started with Y-? Yvonne? Yolanda?

_Not a name_, a little voice inside me said. _Y-... as in you._

_Whatever_, I thought. My pride was stung by being ousted by some girl named Yolanda. But I was compelled to be nice anyway; blame the stupid "Y-as-in-you" Jiminy Cricket voice. "Of course I like you," I said, sitting beside him. "I guess I'm just a generally stupid person."

He shook his head. "No. I don't believe it. You're smart, Wolfie. Smarter than a lot of people."

"Smart aleck, maybe."

"That too." He stood, and I followed his lead. "Back to the distribution office, before they run out of papers."

"Good idea," I said walking beside him, still worried about his completely uncharacteristical outburst.

_Y-... as in you..._ the little voice echoed.

And with that little silver glimmer of hope, my poor little heart, bruised with metaphorical wheel tracks, picked itself up and slowly rolled it's way back into my chest.

---

_End of that chapter! Please read and review!_


	14. Even More Awkward Than Sex Ed

_Well, many things have happened since I began this story. This week, I received my first flame ever, courtesy of Nessa's Ruby Slippers. Apparently, Wolfie is an "idiot snob". Takes one to know once, Nessa's Ruby Slippers. This is a direct quote from her review: "You should really check these things out before you make your character's look like idiot snobs." Maybe you should watch your punctuation before you make _yourself_look like an idiot snob. You, I assume, were trying to pluralize the word; "character's" is a contraction, which, when used in that sentence, is improper grammar. But, hey, we all have to potential to be idiot snobs; I'm probably doing it right now by even bothering to respond to your flame. In regard to "Etiam" actually meaning "furthermore; also"... if you would understand that free online Latin translations are not always exactly correct, you would understand that I did my best. As for the misspelling of Mr. Conlon's surname... I get that a lot. I was foolish when I started this story. I have corrected myself. Anyway, click your heels together and send yourself far, far away, because no one likes flamers. _

_I am testing you to make sure you guys read my author's notes, so please tell me the answer to this question in your review: 4+2 ?. Now back with the author's note... I would like to thank this talented, typing pair of slippers; I have always been grateful for reviewers who critique my work in a positive way, but Nessa's slippers (I wonder if Nessa knows her slippers are so mean...) just reminded me how wonderful people like Wolfy101, Swindler, xLittlexItalyx, and other reviewers are. Thank you guys! huggles_

_On with the story... oh, wait a minute. I do not own _Newsies._ Okay, now on with the story._

_June, 1898_

_The price of the papes to the newsies still has not gone down. _

My stomach was making really weird noises.

"Hungry, Wolfie?"

I looked up at Blink. "Nope. But the monster in my tummy is," I said, pointing to that area of my anatomy.

He chuckled and sat down beside me on the stoop of the girl's lodging house. "Should you feed it?"

I poked my stomach as it growled again. "Probably. But I don't have any newspapers left."

Blink caught the truth in my joke. He turned to look at me and I was suddenly aware of how friggin' close he was to me -- we had a three inch gap between our hips on the stoop. "Hard times, huh?"

"Not harder than any other newsie has."

He pursed his lips and just looked at me for a moment. I turned away and blushed slightly.

"Maybe we should find it some food, eh?"

"Blink, I--"

"You, Wolfie, are coming with me," he said, standing up while simultaneously grabbing my hand and yanking me up with him.

"I don't have any mon--"

"Can't a fella can't buy a girl dinner anymore? Wolfie, for Pete's sake, don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

I shut up and followed him.

xxx

A few minutes later, both of our monsters's hunger satiated (on the way to some little restaurant whose name I have not ever quite figured out, we discovered there was one living inside Blink, too), we headed back to our respective lodging houses, Blink walking rather close to me. His hands were in his pockets, and the brim of his grey cap was pulled down low, as usual. It was warm out, because it was June, so he wasn't wearing his vest and I had not worn any of my petticoats (Mary was positively horrified. I felt more comfortable than I had in ages).

The city was winding down along with the cooling temperature brought by the sun setting when Blink suggested a walk through Central Park.

My heart started banging against my ribcage at this proposal. I did my best to quench the hop that his request contained romantic prospects, but I did not completely suceed. "Uhm," _Bang!_ "Sure!" _Bang!_ "Why not?" _Bang bang!_

He smiled. BANGBANGBANG! My heart was louder than my tummy monster. "Let's go, then."

Central park was gorgeous, and very green. All the June flowers were in bloom, and as soon as we reached the center of the park, the city sights dissapeared and the city noise faded to almost nothing. You could still hear a few birds chirping.

"It's pretty," I said "but I think it needs a rope swing."

"Agreed," he replied, and laughed a little.

Alas, other people had discovered the vaugely romantic hideaway before us. _Oh, ew. People spooning. Blech._ I guess Central Park at sundown was the equivalent of the back rows of a movie theatre today.

"What are you making those faces at, Wolfie?"

"Not what -- who. Don't people have better things to do than exchange saliva in public?"

He looked around him. "Some of them do. Others --like Mush over there-- don't. Why are you blushing."

_Dadgum it_. "Umm..."

He rolled his eyes. "It's not that bad, Wolfie."

"Do they have to do it in public?"

"I bet you've done it too."

"Nope. Not once."

He stopped, suprised. "What about in private?"

I halted net to him, slowly growing as red as a beet. "No... but... like... well..." I paused, before bursting out (a little more forcefully than I intended) "Why do you care!?"

"Well I don't... well..." Blink started turning red, too.

We stood there, in silence, playing the look-at-someone-then-look-someplace-else game.

"Let's get back home," I said.

"Let's," he responded.

So we did. And when we got home, I told Mary all about it. Mary giggled, teased me, and asked me if I wanted to borrow an extra pillow to practice so I didn't get mine all slobbery. I blushed and threw my pillow at her. I missed. After fetching my pillow, I trotted back to my bed, Mary still laughing her head off. I took a swipe at her shoulder. I didn't miss that time. She stuck her tongue out at me as she rubbed her shoulder.

Before falling asleep, I decided that the Central Park walk was even more awkward than sex education had been with the nuns.

xxx

The summer fever hit.

It was amazing it had not struck earlier. The little newsies got it first. Mary spent all her time healing them, so she didn't eat or sleep enough to keep her immune system up -- which means that Mary got sick, too. Then Kit. Then some other older newsies.

Our numbers were down. No other burough had been hit as hard as we had. We were in danger, and now subject to territory invasions. We thought we may pull through -- we sent a message to Brooklyn, and Spot Conlon offered to help us in case we were invaded. We thought we were going to be able to pull through until the first frosts.

Until Blink got sick, that is.

For the first time in my life, I was truly thankful for the innocultions I got as a kid. I barged into the sickroom, my hair tied back and wearing a white apron. Mary and a few younger newsies had healed up, and had set up work schedules so everyone had time to eat and rest so they wouldn't get sick again.

"Tell me what to do, Mary."

"No," an ill-sounding voice interuppted. "I'll tell her what to do." The owner of the voice struggled to sit up, then looke dme straight in the eye. "Get out."

In the predictable fashion of a fairytale prince, Blink had attempted to come to my rescue. "Blink," I said, as I carried over a bucket of ice water and a clean washcloth, "I hate to break it to you, but you don't sound very convincing when your voice is as weak as it is." I ducked the cloth in the ice water and put it on his head, then firmly but gently shoved him back down onto his pillow. "I won't get sick, I promise."

"But--" he protested.

"If these ten-year-olds can do it, I can."

"B-but..."

I took my ice water and went to attend to the other patients, calling over my shoulder to tell Blink to be quiet so everyone else could sleep, and that if he needed anything else all he had to do was call.

Mary grinned at me. "Don't abuse you power trip, Wolfie."

I pouted. "But it's fun!"

She rolled her eyes. "Keep making that face and it'll stick like that. Go get some mugs of broth and bread for Kit, Marbles, Shoes, Slip, and Blink." She looked furtively around her before whispering "I'll even let you feed Blink."

"Shut up!" I muttered, and went to fetch the food, secretly planning Mary's demise on my way down the staircase.

xxx

_'Twas short, I know... but I wanted to get something out during Spring Break! Please review... even if you don't have an account it will let you review! And go check out my new story Bye Bye, Birdie, and review that._

_Love you all!_

_--Scratch_


	15. Hair Held Back by Heartstrings

_It's been a while._

_How is everyone? Sorry for not updating very quickly. I wuv you all._

_Enjoy this chappie. _

_And I don't own_ Newsies_. I do own every character in this story, though. Mwahaha._

--

Everyone got better in a week or two. Except, of course, Blink. 'Cause this story wouldn't really be exciting without any super sucky thing like that happening. Yeah, my life is stranger than fiction...

...but you knew that already, didn't you?

Anyway, I'll stop following rabbits and get back to the story. I was playing nurse, y'know, doing all those stupid things those prairie chicks in calico dresses do in those made-for-TV Hallmark movies? Wiping his brow with a damp cloth, feeding him broth, leaning over him worriedly. The only difference was that I swore a lot more than they did.

"Shit, Blink. Why the hell did you have to go and get sick?"I was slouched over in the chair next to his bed, spoon feeding him very weak tea. He glared at me as another spoonful neared his mouth. It took all my self-control not to just dump the contents of rest of the enamel mug on his face. "Whatever. Drink your goddamn tea, you freakin' invalid."

"You're just angry because everyone thinks it's you're fault I'm still sick," he muttered before drinking his tea. "Dammit, Wolfie, just give me the freakin' mug. I can drink goddamn tea by myself."

I couldn't help but grin. "You've been hanging around with me too long," I said as I handed him the cup. He gave my a questioning look over the brim of the cup. "You just said 'freakin'. You never say that. And it's not my fault you're still sick. The only damn medicine around here is the quack stuff. It's filled with formaldehyde. I refuse to let anybody take it - you wouldn't want take fucking _formaldehyde_, would you?"

He gave me that ha-ha-Wolfie-I-am-about-to-tease-and-or-insult-you smirk before he replied. "You have the worst sailor mouth ever."

I snorted. "What are you going to do, wash it out with soap?"

He shook his head and took another sip of tea. In a normal tone he said, "When did you last eat?"

_What the hell?_ "I dunno. When did you start caring?"

"About the time your skirt started falling down unless you tied your apron tight enough to hold it up. Are you hungry now? Or are you sick?"

I rolled my eyes. "No and no. Drink your tea, creeper. You're the sicky, not me."

He raised his eyebrows. "You sure?"

Resting the tips of my toes on the edge of his mattress, I leaned back in my chair, tottering it on two legs. "Sure I'm sure. It's not like losing a couple pounds will kill me."

He had been facing foward, but now he looked directly at me. "You haven't lived through a winter yet, have you?"

"I'm fifteen! I've been through plenty of-"

"No, Wolfie," he interrupted me. "A winter on the streets. You have an accent, sure, but are you really from the streets? You don't need to answer; I know already." I shut my mouth. "You'll miss that weight by winter. Though maybe you're right," he said, taking another look at me. "You're cheekbones look more... pronounced."

It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. "Uh-_huh_," I nodded. I felt color rise to my cheeks. "That's... nice?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes it was," he said. He turned so he faced forward again and took a drink of tea. "At least, that's how I intended it." It was rather coldly stated.

I moved my feet from his mattress and rested them on the floor. "Blink, I'm sorry. I didn't-"

"Go home and eat some dinner. Sell a few papes, make some sarcastic remarks. Get some sleep, too. Obviously 'hanging out' with an invalid like me is wearing down your nerves." He didn't even look at me.

I awkwardly stood up from my chair and brushed out my skirt. "Well, then, goodbye. Do you need anything before I go? Should I send in Mary or someone else?"

"No," he said, not looking at me again. I took off my apron and noticed the waistband of my skirt _was_ a little loose. I turned and walked to the door, stopping at the coat rack to hang the rather limp cotton apron on a peg.

"Have fun, my favorite little pessimist," he called after me. I turned sharply and looked at him, but he was already back to his tea. I left, slowly, and bought dinner, sold some papers and slept. Or tried to, at least. It was weird how he had suddenly just gotten so... so PMS-y. Bipolar, much? I was finding it sort of creepy, almost how he noticed I'd gotten thinner. It was just odd. Mary, of course, went all giggly on me.

I told her as we stood in front of the bathroom mirrors in our nightgowns, brushing our hair.

"He likes yoooou!" she sniggered.

I rolled my eyes. "And the sky is purple and filled with flying pigs."

"Really?" a young voice called. This one little girl - can't remember her name - was standing in the doorway. She ran to the window before I could tell her it was just an expression. She saw the truth and turned to glare at me. "Liar!" She huffily went to the mirror furthest from me and angrily began brushing her teeth.

Mary and I looked at each other and began laughing under our breath.

--

I rushed over to the sick bay. I was standing in the doorway, pulling on my apron. I turned, using my faithful hair elastic to pull my hair into a ponytail. It broke, leaving my crazy, limp hair in my face. "Dammit!" I muttered.

I head a chortle from Blink's direction. "Language, Wolfie," he teased, sitting up.

"But my hair is in my face!" I protested. "Know anywhere I can get string or something to tie it back?"

"Yes, but I'm not going to tell you where. You look less severe with your hair down. Prettier." I glared at him. "Fine, then. I'll tell you later."

"Whatever," I muttered. "How are you doing?" I asked, approaching the bed.

He was still sitting up, resting on the headboard cushioned with a pillow. "Tired, but better. You?"

"Fine," I said as I felt his forehead with the back of my right hand. "I think your fever broke... just like my hair tie," I sighed mournfully.

He quirked that left eyebrow of his. "Are you sad that my fever or your hair tie broke?"

"Both," I said jokingly. Then I realized I hadn't yet removed my hand from his forehead. I drew it away quickly. "Sorry."

He smiled at me. "I didn't mind at all. Sit down." I looked around for a chair and saw one two yards away. I went to fetch it, but he patted the edge of his bed.

I raised my eyebrows, hesitant.

He rolled his eyes and gave me a look that said _No worries, Wolfie, I won't try anything_.

And, oddly enough, I think I replied with another look that said _I know. I trust you._ So I sat.

"How are you?" I asked somewhat stiffly after an awkward pause.

He smiled. "You asked me that already."

I blushed. "Oh."

His smile turned into a grin. "Are you blushing or feverish?"

I blushed a little more and shrugged. "I dunno."

He reached across the space between us and gently, cautiously rested my the back of his hand on my forehead. His eyes were... curious, almost. Carefully he moved his hand to my right cheek (I didn't mean it that way! The face one, you dolt!) and turned his hand so that it was his palm resting on my cheek. He left it there for a moment and I relaxed a little. I felt my face heat even more. When he dropped his hand it wasn't awkward or strange. Just... natural.

After that the conversation came much more easily. "Do you still want to know where you could get some string for your hair?" he asked. He lifted his hand and for a second I thought he was going to do something strange like stroke my hair. Luckily he just ran his fingers through his own hair. Good thing. I had forgotten to wash my hair this morning.

I hesitated. "My hair looks okay- I mean, alright like this?"

"More than just alright. Not that it looked bad pulled back," he said quickly. "You still look pretty with your hair back, it's just..." he paused, searching for words. "It suits you like this."

I took a deep breath. "Then no."

He looked at me, surprised. Then he smiled a smile (and please excuse this total puppy-love induced cliche) that lit up the entire room. I blushed, but only a little. He smiled a little wider. "Blushing suits you too." I slugged him in the arm. The next day he showed me the bruise it left and laughed, admitting that it did actually hurt.

We continued our chat, and somehow we ended up with less than a foot between us... and I wasn't nervous at all... except when _it_ happened. The sun was going down and we were bathed in a golden glow. Right in the middle of talking about our favorite kind of pie, he gently let his palm rest on the top of my hand.

"Is that alright with you?" he asked suddenly. "Our hands - or, my hand, really - I mean."

I nodded. "Yeah," I said. "Yeah, it's fine." I turned my hand over and curled my fingers around his.

He smiled at me.

And I smiled back.

--

_Enjoy the fluff while it lasts, you sops._


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